


Me, I'm Dying To Get Away

by masterroadtripper



Series: Best We Can [1]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Past Rape/Non-con, Pre-Relationship, The Refuge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21513376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masterroadtripper/pseuds/masterroadtripper
Summary: Jack has a nightmare about the horrible things Snyder forced him to do at The Refuge.
Relationships: Crutchie/Jack Kelly
Series: Best We Can [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555765
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	Me, I'm Dying To Get Away

_“Get over ‘ere kid,” the gruff voice of one of the guards shouted, banging his nightstick against the metal bars. The sound was deafening. None of the boys moved. No one knew who the guard was yelling at. No one wanted to get any closer to the guard than absolutely necessary._

_“Are youse daft pretty boy?” the guard sneered and Jack felt his heart drop. Snyder called him ‘pretty boy’. Of course. Of course, Snyder wanted ‘talk’ with him. Again. Jack didn’t want to move. Maybe if he played dead the guard would leave him alone. No. Then Snyder would only pick a different boy that he wanted to ‘talk’ with. He wouldn’t do that to any of them._

_“Get over ‘ere,” the guard continued. Jack grunted, his decision made, and pushing up against the weight of his tense and injured body, struggling to make it to his feet. He was tired, hungry, bruised and sore, but once he was on his feet, Jack managed to make his way to the bars. Extending his once growing frame caused the empty feeling in his gut to get worse. The pain almost made him double back over, but he didn’t want to show any fear._

_“The boss wants to see ya,” the guard said, pulling the set of keys out of his front-left-hand-pocket to unlock the door. Once the locking mechanism was free, he swung the door open, grabbed Jack’s collar, dragged him through the door, and slammed it closed._

_For what seemed like hours, or it could have been minutes, Jack was dragged through the halls of the Refuge by the collar, towards his known fate. He’d had a ‘talk’ with Warden Snyder too many times to count and almost every time, he’d been thrown back into the cell, barely able to move, unable to talk, and feeling sore in all the wrong places._

_The feeling of panic started rising into his chest, though yet again, Jack tried not to let it take over. He curled his hands into fists, fingernails puncturing into the skin of his palms. As horrible as it was - Jack knew the marks would likely scar over quickly enough - it anchored him into the present and forced him to stay alert._

_Then he saw the heavy mahogany door - the nicest thing in the whole damn establishment - and Jack realized that it was going to happen. The guard didn’t change his mind, he didn’t get away._

_Knocking on the door twice, they both waited for the harsh voice from the inside call, “come in.”_

_So the guard opened the door, pushed Jack inside and closed the door again. When Jack heard the guard lock the door from the outside and his footsteps retreat, Jack swallowed hard. He knew Snyder didn’t like it when he showed fear. He was nicer and more gentle when he pretended to not be terrified. Jack understood, so he dealt with it._

_“Youse been ‘ere for six months pretty boy,” Snyder said, not moving from his chair. As long as he stayed on his side of the desk, Jack could pretend that they were having a normal conversation. As normal as a conversation in jail between the Warden and a fifteen-year-old inmate could be, given the circumstances. But, based on Jack’s theory, if Snyder focused his attention on him, the other, younger kids would be left alone._

_“‘Ow much longer do ya think youse gonna be ‘ere if ya keep misbehavin’?” Snyder said, slamming his fists down on his desk, causing Jack to jump a little from being so tense. A book toppled over and landed on the floor. He didn’t know what he had done to ‘misbehave’ recently. But he didn’t argue back, because Warden Snyder didn’t like that either._

_“I dunno sir,” Jack said, training his eyes on his bare feet, scabbed, bruised and dirty. He didn’t really want to continue this conversation, but if Jack wanted to go back to his cell, he had to get this over with. Hopefully as quickly as possible. The quicker this ‘talk’ happened, the better Jack usually made it out the other side._

_“Is youse gonna be’ave dis time pretty boy?” Snyder asked._

_“Yesh sir,” Jack said, feeling the punctures on his palms start dripping blood down onto his knuckles. Yeah, there’d be crescent-moon-shaped scars on his palms in a couple weeks._

_“Get ova ‘ere boy, or else youse face won’t be so pretty no longer,” Snyder said, standing from his desk and rounding it to the other side. Sitting down on the top of it he folded his arms across his chest and spread his knees a little._

_Jack swallowed hard but didn’t move - couldn’t move from his spot, feet rooted as if they’d frozen against metal in the winter. He didn’t want to do it again, didn’t want the shame of being thrown back into the cell, unable to make a sound, unable to really sit or stand for a couple of days._

_“I gave youse an instruction,” Snyder sneered into the silence, a sentence he could barely hear past the pounding in his ears. Slowly as he could, Jack took enough steps closer to Snyder for him to consider it good enough. He was only about an arms length from the freaky old man, but even from this distance, he could smell lavender. Jack didn’t understand why Snyder always smelled like lavender, maybe it was what he bathed in, but he knew if he never had to smell lavender ever again, he’d be a happy man. Reaching out quickly, Snyder grabbed Jack’s collared shirt and pulled him close. Close enough to smell the smoke of a cigar on the Warden’s clothes past the lavender. Jack clenched his jaw and looked at the first button of the man’s waistcoat. Not his eyes - a gesture that could be mistaken as a challenge, but also not down at his own feet - a gesture that could be mistaken as eagerness at the events about to come._

_“Oh, Jack,” he saw Snyder say, but it didn’t really sound like his voice, “Jack, open your eyes.” He could feel a cool hand caressing his cheek and that was when Jack heard screaming._

Opening his eyes as requested, Jack was face to face with Charlie, the cold hand being that of the younger boy. His penthouse-mate. The younger boy with the beautiful grey eyes, blond mop of hair, crooked smile and personality that was so incredibly bright.

Oh yeah.

He escaped the Refuge two years ago. And now he was sleeping - or was sleeping, now screaming - on the rooftop of the lodging hall. Right next to his best friend, who was the same age as Jack had been when he was put into the Refuge.

“Jack,” he heard Charlie whisper into the night once he stopped screaming, hand withdrawing from his cheek, “youse crying ‘gain.”

“I’m fine,” Jack said, sitting up as quickly as he could, scooching and pawing his way backwards until he felt his back collide with the metal railing, chest heaving. It was over, he was free, the dream was over. His body hadn’t seemed to get the memo yet.

“Youse not ‘kay,” Charlie replied, not moving any closer and putting both his hands down on the corrugated metal, using the leverage to swing his legs underneath him.

“Not talkin bout it,” Jack said, crossing his arms over his chest and spinning to throw his legs over the edge of the roof, dangling them and revelling in the freedom of it all. Holding onto the metal bar at his chest level, Jack leaned his chin down and pressed it against the cool metal. The sting helped, helped ground him to the feeling of living and no longer being trapped in the past.

“‘Bout the Refuge ‘gain?” Charlie asked. Jack whipped his head around to glare at the younger boy, gingerly resting on the roof, his bad leg stretched out to the side. He couldn’t find it in him to truly be mad at Charlie, it wasn’t as if he was wrong. Why talk about the Refuge and rehash the memories that he was trying desperately to forget?

Instead of replying, he just turned and looked back over the railing, towards the city, stretched out at his feet. Maybe if his old man hadn’t died, he would still be living on the other side of the river and not having to pay six cents a night to have a roof over his head and another six to be able to fill his stomach once a day.

“Jack,” he heard Charlie say, his voice almost pleading, “don’ ignore me.”

“Not ignoring youse,” Jack replied, “jus don’ wanna talk ‘bout it.” Because if he talked about it, he was acknowledging that what had happened deserved to be talked about. It didn’t. No one knew about what Snyder had done to him at the Refuge, not even Charlie. Maybe one day, he’d tell him.

“Well, if youse not gonna say nuffin, I’m gonna get going,” Charlie replied. Jack heard shuffling behind him and he knew that the kid was pulling himself to his feet using one of the railings.

“Where you goin’?,” Jack replied, turning around, “Mornin’ bell ain’t rung yet, get back to sleep.”

“I wanna beat the other fellas to the street,” Charlie replied, buttoning his vest and shuffling towards the ladder, “I don’t wan’ anyone to see, I ain’t been walkin’ so good.”

Of course, Jack had noticed that his polio stiffened leg had been causing him more and more trouble recently. As if the ruined bones and muscles were still shrivelling around him, the twitching and random contractions getting worse and worse.

“You know how many guys fake a limp for sympathy? That bum leg of yours is a gold mine,” Jack argued. A gold mine that had kept them both fed and housed when Jack couldn’t get enough sympathy of his own to sell more than twelve cents worth of papers a day.

“Someone gets the idea I can’t make it on my own, theys’ll lock me up in the Refuge for good,” Charlie muttered, awkwardly bending over to grab his crutch and head towards the ladder. Jack knew that Charlie was right. As painful as the thought was. When Snyder’s thugs came through, if they saw Charlie struggling too much, they’d take him simply because it would be easy pickings. Jack didn’t want to think of that.

“Be a pal Jack,” Charlie said, sitting down on the ledge, getting ready to scale the ladder, “Help me down.”

But before he could get up to give Charlie a hand to turn around - his leg making the feat almost impossible - the kid had lost his balance and was falling.

“Jack!” he screeched, hanging off the ladder by only one tightly gripped hand. Blood pumping, he rushed over and pulled Charlie back up onto the roof. He didn’t think too hard about what would have happened if he hadn’t gotten a grip on the railing soon enough. His brain provided a perfect enough image for Jack to know to never think about a ‘what if’ like that again.

Once Charlie was safe on the roof - looking rather dejected - Jack teased, “you wanna bust youse otha’ leg too?”

“No,” Charlie said, wiping the pout off his face, “I wanna go down.”

“Youse be down there soon enough, take a moment to drink in our penthouse, high above the stinkin’ streets of New York,” Jack replied, looking back over the city. It was lovely up there during the summer months. The cool breeze off the Hudson provided a wick better than any useless fan could. Besides, Jack had had enough of sleepless nights looking at metal roofs. He’d rather spend a night staring at a polluted sky, occasionally glimpsing a star or two between the rolling smog.

“Youse crazy,” Charlie muttered, but with the help of Jack’s offered arm, he pulled himself to standing and wedged his crutch under his arm. He understood why Charlie wanted to get a head start on the day, but if he was going out, Jack was going to follow him, and he wanted to at least see the sunrise first.

“Because I like a breath of fresh air?” Jack challenged. As much as he appreciated what Charlie was doing - had been doing all morning, this nagging attitude of his was starting to get on his nerves, “‘Cause I like seein’ the sky and the stars?”

“Youse seein’ stars all right,” Charlie joked, throwing a mocking punch in Jack’s direction, the jest not even reaching halfway to his face.

Jack rolled his eyes, “them streets down there sucked the life right outta my old man,” _and me too_ , Jack added, but only inside of his head. He hadn’t been the same since the Refuge.

“Years of rotten jobs, stomped on by bosses,” Jack explained, looking right over at Charlie, “And when dey finally broke him, dey tossed him to the curb like yesterday’s paper. Well, they ain’t doin’ that to me.”

“But everyone wants to come here,” Charlie said and Jack heard the heavy ‘flopping’ noise of the younger boy leaning forwards on the rickety railings. Yeah, sure, people wanted to come to New York to live the American dream. But what kind of dream was this? This was a living nightmare.

Jack really didn’t want to crush Charlie’s spirit but decided to say, “New York’s fine for those that can afford a big strong door to lock it all out.” It wasn’t really much of a reply, but it was something. The younger boy frowned and started picking at his crutch with his right fingernails.

He hated to see that Charlie was upset, so he added, “But I tell you Charlie, there's a whole otha’ way out there. Let ‘em keep thems small life in the big city, give me a big life in a small town.”

When he saw Charlie look at him with a big lopsided smile, Jack knew that he’d do anything for the kid with the bum leg and a heart as big as all of Manhattan.

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my first story in the Newsies fandom. It seems lately I've been very behind jumping into these fandoms, but hey, I'm here now. Hope y'all enjoyed it!
> 
> \--Notes--  
> 1) yes, I decided to call Crutchie by his real name, because I feel like Jack would have the decency to not call Charlie 'Crutchie' all the time  
> 2) the reference to the lavender is actually from Outlander (if anyone caught that) and it is used as a numbing agent  
> 3) if you couldn't tell, if Jack and Charlie were to continue, Jack would immediately start singing 'Santa Fe' after the last line. this is my version of what happens right before the first scene and why they're both up so early  
> 4) the lines that are from the musical are taken from here: https://www.mtishows.com/news/read-disneys-newsies-for-free-ahead-of-march-1st-general-release which is why it's slightly different than the soundtrack wording.  
> 5) the 6 and 12 cents figures are real numbers. Newsies could stay at the lodging building in 1899 for 6 cents a night. For an additional 6 cents, they'd get a hot meal


End file.
